He couldn't look away
by qwertysweetea
Summary: Grantaire wouldn't say that he was in love with Enjolras, all he knew was that from the moment he looked up he couldn't look away. A different take on Enjolras and Grantaire's relationship. Modern AU. One-sided E/R, idolisation, a couple of scenes stolen from the book.


Based off the book more than the musical and films, though I would be lying if I said I didn't see a bit of Hadley Fraser and George Blagden while writing this.

[This is a modern!AU and because people go to university a lot early now adays than they did back in the early 1800s, I have made the characters 2-3 years younger. So Grantaire is about 26, and Enjolras is about 23.]

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Les Miserable or any characters and places associated with Victor Hugo's novel, any screen or stage adaptations and musical soundtracks. No profit is made from the writing for this fanfiction.

* * *

><p>Grantaire didn't know much about the man in the café. He knew that he was an avid student and that his passion for political science had motivated him to the point of staging protests and making grand public speeches. He knew that the student was that driven he had eyes for nothing but his projects and protests, which in today's world of cheap alcohol and even cheaper love was a marvel, if not admirable.<p>

He knew his name was Enjolras and that he attended the same university that Grantaire himself had, and though they had never passed in the few years they had shared there together, Enjolras' name had become known over and off campus. In wasn't until a year after Grantaire had dropped out that he had the pleasure of seeing one of these famous speeches.

He remembered how he listened to what Enjolras and his group, "Les Amis de l'ABC" or so they called themselves, had to say from his small table in the corner, with his eyes too creased up from silent laughter to read the paper in front of him. After a while he went to leave, the buzzing in his veins from the few early evening drinks he had enjoyed having worn off, but then he looked up. All he remembered after that was how he couldn't look away.

So, he knew Enjolras had a strong voice and a presence so intense that watching him was like watching a theatrical rendition of a Shakespearean romance.

Every evening he found himself in the same café, in the same seat waiting for Enjolras' speeches to start, and the blonde would be sat, or stood, at one of the larger tables of one of the local university cafés, surrounded by his friends as he talked of equality, freedom, change… and with every word from his mouth Grantaire got further dissolved into a passion of his own: Enjolras.

He watched intently as he spoke. The fire in Enjolras' eyes, the reddening of his cheeks; he especially liked it when he got that carried away his jaw would tense and he would bare his teeth. That passion flowed from the man like he was a reincarnated poet, and it made Grantaire's heart race and his body ache worse than any cheap vodka could.

His seat moved closer with every group meeting, he gradually introduced himself to member after member of Les Amis de l'ABC, buying them drinks and talking to them at the counter about everything and nothing until one day he found himself sat with them, listening to Enjolras' speeches as one of his own.

"Who is this?" That voice drew him out of whatever dazed state he found himself in that night, onces the discussions were over and the men sat round drinking and laughing. The blonde was looking at him dubiously and as Grantaire opened his mouth to reply he found his lungs deprived of air. A hand landed on his back hard when he didn't summon up an answer and the man beside him announced, "This is Grantaire, he's here to help us out" with an arm still around his back as if they were old friends.

Enjolras still looked doubtful, eyeing him from across the table before he looked away, his still uptight expression taking on a more relaxed form, though Grantaire had no doubt that it was as close to calm as someone like he would get.

It was a few weeks before Enjolras spoke to him directly again, though the rest of the group had welcomed him to drink and talk with them like he had been there from the very beginning. He had been sat back in his new seat at the table talking with the cheerful young man he now knew as Joly when he was stopped dead mid-sentence, silenced by Enjolras' stare from across the table.

"How do you feel about the increase of university fees?" He asked plainly. No introductions, no formalities. The power behind his words seemed to suck the air dry of the drunken and warm atmosphere.

"I don't feel about it at all." Grantaire replied honestly and a little awkwardly, reminding himself to breathe through the sudden stiffness in his lungs as Enjolras unknowingly knocked the air out of them. "It has nothing to do with me."

"How do you feel about the pay freeze for health workers?" He asked in the same tone.

The rest of the table had gone silent by his point, most of them more interested in Enjolras' reaction than they were in Grantaire's opinions. Many of them already knew where he stood from casual convocation.

"I didn't even know there had been a pay freeze for health workers." He replied slowly.

"Police brutality?" Enjolras said, barely giving his last reply a chance to sink in.

Grantaire simply shrugged.

The leader gave a disgruntled sigh, crossing his arms across his chest and leant back in his chair. He looked at Grantaire for a short while, evaluating him. "Do you know what we do?" He asked after a while.

"You fight for change and equality."

"But you are a cynic?" Enjolras replied bitterly, leaning forward on his elbows.

"I don't believe the world can be changed." Grantaire answered, finding the strength in his own voice.

Grantaire felt himself being broken down but it didn't feel like a completely negative thing. The pressure in his chest that he could only describe as nervousness was being worn away with every harsh glare from the man he admired and replaced with a fluttering longing. The cruelness in Enjolras' eyes was only adding fuel to the fervent fire in his eyes, and Grantaire loved it just as much as the blaze he saw when he talk of change.

No other political convocation passed between them from that point on, in fact few words passed between them that weren't passive aggressive attempts at berating the other.

For months this continued. Evening after evening sat with this new-found group of men who had no problem with his drinking and enjoyed his company, and there leader in red, the walking example of perfection glaring at him with an obsession-fuelled hatred that sent pleasant shudders through him with every shot of his eyes.

'Good for nothing' he had heard Enjolras comment on him from a couple of tables away, hunched over his papers as his friend Combferre sung Grantaire's praises on his particularly keen restaurant finding skills from earlier that day.

He couldn't recall exactly when heckling Enjolras had become as exhilarating as watching him speak, but he could only assume that incident had a hand in it all. He had barely noticed he was staring at the man, cheeky smile plastering his face long after Enjolras had looked away until one of the men beside him called him back into their convocation.

"Do you like winding the chief up?" Jehan laughed.

Grantaire smiled back, finishing off his drink in one motion but did not reply.

Then the group began finalising their plans for the next protest. Enjolras walked up to the table which they had been gathered around for a good few hours, throwing himself into the chair that had been reserved for him with a displeased sigh. His eyes were slightly dimmer with disappointment as he talked in a hushed voice with two of the other students over their recent abandonment by someone they called "the sponsor".

Slowly, the group disbanded for the evening, leaving Enjolras to work things over on his own, and Grantaire to finish his drink from across the table.

The tension was rising between them, though Grantaire was sure it was not a mutual thing. He finished his drink quickly and took a breath, heart already stirring "You know… I could help."

Enjolras gave a look of disbelief and replied with the same passion that he had been missing since the news earlier that day. "We all have a role in this group, a purpose but you... What could you possibly do?"

"What is required of me." He answered.

"Do you believe in anything?" Enjolras asked almost desperately, though he still kept form.

Grantaire's breathing lost all structure and his throat jammed with everything that Enjolras' speeches, beliefs, and mere presence had stirred up in him. After a moment for collecting himself, unable to look away from the intense gaze of the other he muttered. "I believe in you."

After a moments silence Enjolras' expressionless face turned into a light scowl, even then Grantaire could not persuade himself to look away, even when his instincts as a young man and as a fighter all screamed at him to avoid eye contact. "You want to help me?"

He replied with a nod. "Of course."

"Then stay out of our way. We have no room for cynics and drunks."

Grantaire did not reply, his head pounding with all that he had come to understand about Enjolras and how he regarded him up until that point. He warred against himself, fighting against all his instincts when they told him to be offended, to be disheartened. His eyes only occasionally flicked up him, and it seemed that his rage had not subsided. It only went to fuel the already burning desire to impress him, to be of some use.

After a few minutes of unbearable silence he said "You are cruel Enjolras."

"I am cruel because I am honest?" The man replied a heartbeat later "You don't believe in any of what we are fighting for, in what we are doing. Why would I assume you are capable of doing anything for us?"

"Because I can do it. I have connection with a few organisations from my time at university, I have connections with people." He urged, his words coming out as almost a plead. "I can speak your words, fight this cause to them."

"Be serious." Enjolras replied, eyes still stern.

"I mean it."

Another thick silence fell over them.

"Fine." He said gravely after a moment's contemplation, putting forward a piece of paper and jotting down some instructions. "I'll give you this chance. Go home, make yourself presentable. Sober up."

"Don't worry." Grantaire said, taking the paper.

Enjolras wasn't going to say that he was impressed by Grantaire, but he would be lying if he denied it completely, not that he ever had the intention of letting the older gentleman know. Grantaire however, knew. He knew from the rekindling of the fire in Enjolras' eyes when he brought him good news from his contacts and Grantaire didn't need any thanks when he had that.

He made his way back to his apartment, those eyes still burning into him long after they were gone. He was lost in thought when a heavy arm landed on his back. Apparently the night wasn't over. All of Les Amis, with exception of their devout leader, was celebrating. A drink was thrust into his hands and he needed no encouraging to consume it.

He remembered very little after that. Drink after drink piled up. Another arm was round his back, his heavy head on the jolting shoulder of his friend as they made their way down a swaying street, then his back hit a wooden floor of an apartment he didn't recognise.

He struggled to focus as he pulled himself up, pictures sat on the mantle and all the faces distorted but one. Golden curls stood out against his trademark red jacket, stood out in the crowd. Enjolras, and he really was breath-taking; his hair disheveled and face flushed as he stood off against an unknown group behind the camera, mid shout.

"That was the year before last, protesting against the MP pay-rise." Courfeyrac slurred from behind him, using the mantle to hold himself up. "He got maised, resisting arrest." He chuckled.

Grantaire's breath caught in his throat. "H-He's wonderful." He muttered, stumbling away from the mantle and back onto the floor.

He could see it all play out as if he was there. Enjolras with swollen eyes and tears streaking down his face, body lashing under the knee of some police officer as he gasped for breath against it, tongue still sharp as he continued to shout out his cause. The man truly was wonderful and it was only in those moments as the voices of those in the room droned into a gentle hum in the background, that he forced himself to think over the feels he felt around the man.

Yes, he thought about the man a lot, his speeches and his energy, but he had never thought to question how _he_ felt about the man. His speeches sent him into a daze, his harshness left him breathless. It was like he was lost watching him yet he didn't want to be anywhere else.

He hadn't known he had passed out, until he was slowly peeling his eyes open as a heavy pressure to his chest jolted him out of sleep. He lifted his heavy head off the floor. The only thing in his field of fuzzy vision was his leader in red, towering over him with his arms crossed. "Once you've washed the vomit out of your hair you might want to consider joining us at the Musain café to get ready for tomorrows protest, unless you wish to continue stewing in your drink."

The man never switched off. The passion never seemed to dwindle in his eyes. It burnt as brightly throughout the day as it did when he woke up, as it did when he spoke to his supporters of their next fight, as it did when the night came to a close.

He rolled onto his back one the door clicked shut and stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts continuing where it left off the night before. It was 8am and despite being woken up with a boot to the rips after a night of heavy drinking, it only added to his admiration of Enjolras. So Grantaire stood, staggering his way to the bathroom, using the walls for support and unceremoniously stuck his head under the shower, emptying the last of his stomach contents.

He felt drained, and not just drained in its physical manifestation. He felt empty. His eyes trailed up to his reflection in the shower glass. Hollow eyes, even while they were still distorted with alcohol, the only thing since before Enjolras which had even helped him feel something besides hopelessness.

Then it clicked and he stumbled back against the wall, painfully aware off all he felt towards Enjolras like he's been smacked round the face with it.

Something that for months had been a childish need to impress his idol had become something more.

The man was everything he was missing. He had belief, he had motivation, and he had desire… Of all that, he had given himself a purpose, and something to die for and Grantaire was sat there, almost 27 and already hardened to the effects of alcohol with nothing to believe in and nothing to dedicate his life to beside his own misery. Then there was man, who in a few short months had given him more intensive to feel something, do something, be something than nearly a decade of alcohol and one-night stands ever had.

He thought, it would have been enviable had he not been so thankful to the man.

He looked at his reflection then, and for the first time since his childhood he saw a spark of something in his eyes, finally understanding what he wanted to do with his life, and who he wanted to dedicate it to: Enjolras.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p>

Please let me know what you think about my take on Grantaire, Enjolras and their relationship.


End file.
